Pawns of Chaos
by Kyla Baines
Summary: This is the story of what brought Alistair Theirin and Caera Hawke together one fateful day in Lothering, and how their paths would cross years later in Kirkwall. Each will shake the world in different ways, but ultimately, their destinies are intertwined.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_Hawke_

_Years before Caera Hawke became the champion of Kirkwall, she was a carefree girl like any other. Her family had a secret, though – a secret that threatened to tear them apart in the blink of an eye: Bethany, Hawke's sister and best friend was a mage. An apostate. A crime for which she could be put to death and her family along with her with one nod from any of the templars that prowled the village. For as long as she could remember, Caera and her brother, Carver, had been responsible for keeping the villagers' suspicions at bay. _

_Most days, though, she spent learning from her father. Though Malcolm Hawke was, like Bethany, an apostate, his life on the run had taught him other fighting techniques which he passed on to all of his children. From the time she could stand, Caera had been introduced to a variety of combat situations, excelling with a bow in particular. _

_While all of the Hawkes loved each other dearly, Carver was resentful towards Bethany and Caera: Bethany because her powers prevented the family from fully assimilating into any community, and Caera for her natural grace, leadership, and selflessness. As the years passed, Carver's jealousy took root and began to grow in earnest. _

_Tensions between the siblings came to a near breaking point when Caera was twenty years old, and Carver and Bethany sixteen. Their father, who had worked so hard to foster a loving family, despite their mutual sufferings, died suddenly one night. Caera found out years later from her mother that Malcolm had been ailing for years, but had refrained from telling any of his children. _

_With his calming influence gone, Carver began voicing his irritation with both sisters more frequently, and began to spend more time alone in the village as he grew older and more independent. With his actions becoming increasingly suspect, Leandra considered moving the family once again to avoid templar notice. However, Carver soon after enlisted in the Ferelden military, and the templar eyes were drawn back to more pressing matters in the village itself as the Fifth Blight loomed on the horizon._

* * *

"Mother, we _must_ think about going. And soon," Caera insisted. The templars in the village have been saying that the darkspawn overpowered the king's forces to the south. They are traveling north, and will be here any day. We can't afford to wait for him much longer."

"But he's your brother!" Leandra cried, "We can't just leave without finding out what happened!"

"I'm as concerned as you are, Mother," sighed Hawke, rubbing her temples with her forefingers. "We can stay for two more days, but any longer than that and we're likely to be killed, and a lot of good it'll do Carver if that happens."

Leandra wrung her hands together, but nodded at her daughter's words. Caera had been forced into the role of head of the family when Malcolm had died, and filled that role admirably. One of Leandra's main regrets, though, was that it had caused her eldest to grow up much too fast when she, their mother, had withdrawn and ceased to function for months after her husband passed.

"Sister, you should go into Lothering for the rest of the day to stay on top of any new information," Bethany put in. "It sounds as if the refugees have quite a bit to say – Maker only knows how much of it is actually true, though."

Nodding at her sweet younger sister, the image of a younger Leandra with her long, flowing black hair and light brown eyes, Caera turned to walk out the door, grabbing her traveling pack as she went. The oldest Hawke had inherited Leandra's dark hair (which she had cropped short for practicality), but the rest of her looks came from Malcolm: her face was not as soft as Bethany's, but rather sharply angled with high cheekbones and a small, pixie-like chin. Her brilliantly blue eyes were also her father's; they were bright and friendly under most circumstances, but when her ire was raised, they turned to ice.

She walked through the back gate into Lothering itself, and, on the way to the Dane's refuge where she was sure to hear the latest gossip, she stopped and caught an exchange between two of the templars walking back towards the chantry.

"No idea what a group like them are doing in Lothering."

"The tall one said they came up from Ostagar… Surely they aren't refugees like most of the folk around here."

_Hmm,_ she thought to herself, smiling, _it sounds as if my trip to town might be more productive than I originally thought, providing I can get these visitors to talk to me. If they were at Ostagar, they might even know what happened to Carver's retinue. _

Energized by her plan, Caera walked across the bridge and saw a stranger speaking with the merchant outside of the chantry. Though it was difficult to make out specifics from a distance, the man was wearing heavy armor and was clearly not one of the helpless refugees that sought out safety in Lothering. Smiling at her luck, Caera wandered closer.

"My prices are final, _ser_. If you're seeking charity, I suggest you look elsewhere," the merchant said.

_Belgen, that old cheat!_ Caera thought, shaking her head slightly. _Always inflating his prices when he thinks nobody is paying attention._

"Your extra gold will do you no good when the darkspawn arrive!" the man said, flustered.

Deciding that intervening could be a good way to gain the stranger's confidence, she strolled casually over and grabbed Belgen by the arm, pulling him out of hearing range. She spun him around, and whispered sweetly, "Belgen, Belgen. What exactly are we going to do with you? Do you remember that conversation we had last week? You know, the one where I told you that I have no qualms about telling Barlin about your undermining his sales unless you start charging fair prices?"

Ignoring the look of fury on his rapidly purpling face, she patted him on the cheek and said, "Excellent! Now, I trust that you'll charge the low prices I'm sure that nice man deserves, especially as he's carrying a sword that's half as tall as you are."

Smiling, Caera winked in the stranger's direction and walked slowly away to watch the rest of the interchange from the low wall nearby.

A few minutes later, his purchases complete, the man wandered over in her direction. She looked up as he approached and was startled by the intensity of his amber gaze.

"Thank you, my lady," he said, bowing very slightly and smiling.

"Oh not at all. Belgen is always trying to cheat people, and occasionally needs to be reminded of his more honorable side."

"I am Alistair. And you are?"

"Caera Hawke. A pleasure, good ser."

The rest of the afternoon passed in pleasant camaraderie. Over a few drinks at the tavern, Caera found out that Alistair was a Grey Warden, and was traveling with a group with the hopes of combating the Blight. As they stood outside in the waning light from the sun, he looked at her with an expression more serious than any she had seen on him all day and said, "Hawke, you need to leave Lothering. The darkspawn will be here any day. Take your family and leave as soon as you can."

She glanced up at him and said, "You know we are waiting for my brother. I've told my mother we will stay for two days, but I can't leave before then unless he is with us. It would destroy my family if we didn't go together."

"Just take care, alright?" he said, his gaze intense.

Hawke would never forget the look in his eyes as Alistair had told her to be careful, and, looking back years later could understand completely why her mother had left her privileged life to follow an apostate mage.

* * *

_Alistair_

_Much like Caera Hawke, Alistair did an incredible amount of growing up in a very short amount of time. Thrown into templar training at a young age, he was forced to learn strict discipline and responsibility from his first day in the chantry._

_He grew into a strong, able, and forthright young man, but was deeply unhappy with his cloistered lifestyle. He saw his liberation by Duncan as a blessing from the Maker, and launched himself enthusiastically into his role as a new Grey Warden. _

_As a near-templar, he was as surprised as everyone else that the newest Warden, Liam Amell, was becoming his fast friend. A mage of no small measure, with a quick wit and even quicker smile, Liam had stood fast beside Alistair through the horrors they had faced at Ostagar, and had kept him from sinking into depression while dealing with Loghain's betrayal and the loss of Duncan and their king. _

_Still reeling from his recent losses, Alistair believes that, with his destiny laid out before him, very little joy will be found in the coming months and years. Still, he is determined to persevere, and to look for happiness where it can be found._

* * *

"There it is – Lothering. Pretty as a painting," he said to Liam.

Before the mage could reply, though, Morrigan broke in with venom in her voice, "Ah, so you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Did falling on your sword finally seem like too much work?"

"Is it really so unconceivable that I should be upset, witch?" he spat back.

"Alright, you two," Liam put in, having grown into the role of mediator over the past few days, "Let's just get done what we need to do and keep moving north. Alistair, if you'd get us the needed supplies, Morrigan and I will go dig up some work and see what we can find out from the locals. We'll meet outside of the chantry around sundown."

Still in a foul mood, but grateful that Liam had taken Morrigan out of his general vicinity for the time being, Alistair walked towards a likely looking supply cart. The man did nothing to help his temperament, however, and Alistair was almost ready to storm off and look somewhere else when a petite girl bounded over and, miraculously, got the man to drastically lower his prices.

After finding out her name (and noting that she was the single most exquisite creature he had ever set eyes upon) and heading to the local tavern for a drink and friendly conversation, Alistair's mood began to turn, and he found himself happier than he had been since that fateful night in Ostagar.

Just as he readied himself to leave to meet up with Liam and Morrigan again, Alistair found himself asking Hawke to be careful and leave with her family. Desperation and fear clouded his mind as the young woman explained her situation again to him, her blue eyes blazing from behind strands of her short, dark hair that fell in front of her face.

"Don't worry too much about me, Alistair," she joked, lightly punching his arm, "I'm a big girl, and I'll take care of myself. Whatever happens, though, I have to put my family first."

Nodding, he held out his hand to say goodbye to the woman he felt he knew already, but was pleasantly surprised when she ignored it and instead skipped forward lightly to embrace him.

"You take care of yourself, too. I hear that defeating a Blight is no small task. Just think, all I need to do is get my family away from Lothering!"

With that last friendly embrace, and a quick smile, Caera Hawke turned lightly on her heel and laughed lightly. She had no way of knowing then that it was that vision of her, and the sound of her laughter fading away with her profile that sustained the man who would eventually become King of Ferelden through many nights spent in the wilderness, plagued by sleeplessness, nightmares, and deep and relentless loneliness.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_This chapter is written journal-style, as both Caera and Alistair reflect on the past year. For Caera, it is her first year in Kirkwall, and for Alistair, the events of the Fifth Blight._

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Reflections**

_Hawke_

We made it. I can't believe that everything turned out as (relatively) well as it did! It's hard to believe that just one year ago we were running for our lives from Ferelden, and now we're Kirkwallers. If only Carver were here to see this. Although Mother still blames me for his death, I don't think she truly believes it is completely my fault anymore. If only she knew that the burden of his death is something that I carry with me every day, and it never gets any easier. He and I never got along, but he was my younger brother, and I feel like I let him down.

As much as I hate to think it, perhaps it was for the best – Carver never had any interest in coming to Kirkwall, and he certainly hated how much we moved around as children, especially before Bethany learned how to hide her magic. I just hope that he is happier now that he is with Father; I'm sure that both of them are having a good laugh at what Bethany and I have gotten up to this past year!

Although I never thought of myself as stooping to the level of a smuggler, it wasn't actually completely awful. The pay has been enough to keep us all afloat, and Athenril _did_ get us into the city in the first place. Still, some of her methods I cannot help but question. She has begun to use younger and younger people on her jobs… some of the boys I've seen hanging about lately can't be older than twelve! I wish that there were something I could do to improve the lives of the common people in the city.

There is a huge rift between the classes in Kirkwall: there are the incredibly wealthy who can afford the monstrosities in Hightown that they call estates, and then there are the incredibly poor who live in hovels in Lowtown or Darktown. Then, of course, there are the refugees who, more often than not, end up living in some alleyway, hoping that they don't get tossed in the Gallows. I suppose I should feel grateful to Gamlen for taking us in to the pit he calls a home, but it really is his fault that we are all in this predicament. Oh well, at least it's a roof over our heads, which is far more than many Ferelden refugees have.

I can't help but wonder what will happen now that our year working our debt off is over. Gamlen says that we should crawl back to Athenril and beg her to employ us full-time again, but I can't stand the thought of doing that. Plus, Mother dreams of someday taking back the old Amell estate… Maybe Bethany and I could find good enough work to someday think of buying it. I can't even begin to think of the gold that would take, though!

Gamlen has been very edgy on the subject of the estate, though, and it is making Bethany and me very suspicious. I know, suspicious of Gamlen – who would have ever thought that! I can't help but think there is something (or, more likely, many things) that he isn't telling us about Grandfather's will. Bethany wants to get to the bottom of it. I agree with her, but I would certainly feel better if I had a steady source of income, first. Perhaps she is right, though, and it would be better to look into it as soon as possible. Mother has been so miserable for the last year, and all she could talk about from the time we took ship in Gwaren were the luxuries of her old family estate. I think this transition has been the hardest on her because of those expectations. _Damn_ Gamlen. I truly think that the only thing that has kept me from sending an arrow his way on several occasions is that he is family.

It's been a whole year, but I can't help but wonder sometimes about Alistair. Who would have thought that the awkward young man I helped out in Lothering is now one of the heroes of Ferelden, and King to boot! Bethany says I should just stop thinking about him altogether, but I can't help but wonder if he ever thought of that afternoon we shared. It seems like a lifetime ago. Really, hearing about everything that he has done (providing all of the stories are true) makes me feel that I've had it quite easy!

Well, I suppose I should stop dallying and get going… Bethany and I have found an interesting lead for almost certain riches (or so they say). A dwarf by the name of Bartrand is apparently looking to hire some explorers for an expedition to the Deep Roads now that the Blight is over. I think we might have a decent shot, even if we aren't soldiers or professional thugs… at least we've fought darkspawn before!

Maker, I hope that this year is better than the last.

* * *

_Alistair_

How in Andraste's name has it come to this?

I never even wanted to be king, but here I am, sitting in the royal study, wearing a crown and everything. The crown is probably one of the worst parts, too… it's so itchy! Well, the crown and the whole all-of-Ferelden-is-counting-on-you thing. At least the kitchens always have a fresh supply of cheeses from all across Thedas.

I just can't believe everything that has happened. Was it really just over a year ago that I became a Grey Warden and was saved from an almost certain lifetime of unhappiness by Duncan? I'm just happy that this Blight's officially over. The nightmares finally stopped again, thanks to the pesky Archdemon being dead.

I can't believe that we actually combed our way through the Circle of Magi just before the Rite of Annulment was invoked. Maker, I can't believe we actually _survived _that. Needless to say, if I never see another abomination or demon in my life, I'll be happy. Not to mention the whole demon trapping me in the Fade, thing… I'm just happy that Liam recognized the Fade for what it was and got all of us out of there. There were certainly advantages to having a mage along. I can't believe how fooled the Sloth demon had me – I think that if Liam hadn't come along I would have very happily stayed in my own dream. How could that demon have known my feelings for Hawke? _I_ didn't even realize they were there until that blasted dream.

Liam. My friend. Why did you have to die? This would all be so much more bearable if you were still around to joke with. Morrigan, sneaky and interfering witch that she is, told me just before she left that you didn't have to die when you killed the Archdemon. I wonder if that's true, or if she just wanted to get one last cruel word in. I tend to think the latter is true.

At Liam's funeral, which coincided with the unveiling of the monument to Duncan and the Grey Wardens, a list of all of the deeds our group did was read off. It feels unreal, almost as if it was someone else who took part in it and not me. Who would have thought that we would have actually pulled everything off? Save Redcliffe and Arl Eamon? Check. Clear out the abominations, demons, and various other nasties in the Circle Tower? Check. Fight werewolves, a crazy old elf, walking trees, and Maker knows what else just to get the Dalish to help us out? Check. Tromp around underground, take on an entire Carta, and explore more of the Deep Roads than anyone in their right minds would even consider just to get a dwarf on the throne and his pledge of support? Check.

Did the Archdemon really die just a few months ago? Is the Blight really over? Andraste's ass, am I _really_ king? If so, I think that whoever put me here should really reconsider this. No. That's not really true, I suppose. I promised Liam that I would give this kingly business my best shot, and I owe it to him to do just that, especially after he sacrificed everything to save countless other lives.

I can't believe the flurry of activity, though. I've barely been king, and I'm already being pressured to find myself a nice queen to settle down with, and think about producing an heir. Maker's breath, that's the _last_ thing I want to think about right now! Can't a man have a moment to recover from an entire year of battling darkspawn?

Who am I fooling, though? It's not just that. Ever since Lothering, before this all truly began, and especially since those hours that could have been months for all I knew, locked in my own head, living a fantasy created just for me, there has only been one woman on my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about her the entire time I was fighting, telling myself that every evil that I killed was one less thing that could go after her. Liam told me to hold onto that hope. I still do, even though he is gone, and there is an awful chance that she and her family never made it out of Lothering.

I can't let myself dwell on that, though. Instead, I'll do as I always have done: stay busy, and tell myself that by some miracle she is still alive and out there. Safe. Perhaps thinking of me even as I think of her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Regrets **

_Hawke_

Here I am. Three years older, and what have I got to show for it? I thought that things were finally looking up for us when I met Varric after his ass of a brother turned us down for a job. I suppose that some things have been good, but it's hard to focus on those things with so much else that has gone wrong. Varric told me I should write down everything that we've been through, everything that I'm feeling, that someday it will be a "tale to rival the Hero of Ferelden's." I will, for him; I owe him that much. Sometimes I think he is my only true friend, and the only one who keeps me hanging on to my sanity.

Where do I even start? I suppose it can start with the same person that my last reflections ended with: Bartrand. That bastard. If it hadn't been for him… well, I suppose I'm already getting ahead of myself. Maker, Varric is so much better at this than I am.

I suppose I'll begin, as Mother always told me as a child, with my blessings. One would think that with the family estate back and more riches than I know what to do with I would be happy. Even now I sit at a writing desk more expensive than Gamlen's entire house, yet feel sick to my stomach over it. Maybe it's because, to me, there is nothing that could have cost more than what it took to get these frivolous, material things. I also have several loyal friends, although some of them I doubt, even after all we have been through together:

Varric – Where would I be without him? He may have the worst brother in all of Thedas, but his loyalty and friendship are something that I do not think I will ever question. I do not think that I would have made it through these past few weeks without him and his ability to make me laugh no matter what.

Aveline – I'm certain that she means well, but I doubt that she will ever be the friend that Varric is. She is certainly caring and concerned enough with my well-being, but I know that, in her heart, her loyalty is with the Kirkwall City Guard. It is comforting to know that she would never betray me, but it can certainly be tiring hearing her lectures when she doesn't agree with a course of action I've taken. In all fairness, though, sometimes I question the actions I've taken.

Isabela – Maker, what am I going to do with her? She certainly makes me smile, but I know without question that, if it came to it, Isabela would betray me without blinking if it would benefit her.

Merrill – How a sweet elf like her ever got caught up in blood magic and demons is beyond me. I fear that it will eventually drive a wedge between her and most of the rest of us. I keep trying to get through to her and help her, but she is almost beyond reason, and I do not think she realizes the trouble she could herself (and us) into!

Fenris – If you can get past him punching through people's chests without breaking a sweat, I think he is really a rather good person. I have tried speaking to him about his past several times, and have also tried to talk about various and sundry other things, but he doesn't seem to understand the concept of friendly conversation. I don't think he knows what it means to have a friend at all. I hope that someday he does. Right now he is too obsessed with revenge that I think his hate eclipses any good feelings he might be hiding.

Anders – Oh, Anders. How he has pulled at my heart with his earnest struggle for the mages, with his sincere compassion for my dear sister's plight. I thought, if for just awhile, that I might grow to love him (Varric will have a field day if he ever gets hold of this). And why not love him? It's not Justice that bothers me. It's not his eagerness to help. It is the unexplainable knowledge that he is hiding something. And I know that it's something more than just the average "I just lost your favorite pair of daggers" secret; I have a feeling this is something terrible. Something dark. Something that even love could not make him divulge. I know that, were I to let myself fall in love with him and were this secret to be revealed, it would shatter my heart beyond repair.

And finally, Bethany. My dear sister. My biggest regret. I thought that leaving her behind when we took off for those Maker-forsaken Deep Roads was for the best. I thought that she would be safer with Mother and Gamlen, that she wouldn't have to deal with the nightmares I will forever have about that place, that I was _protecting_ her. And now she's gone. Gone but for the occasional letter and for the glimpses of her we get when we can visit the Circle. I came back from that expedition just in time to see the templars dragging her off to the Circle of Magi, and to be blamed by my Mother yet again for the loss of another child. I miss her so much. I would give up everything we have now and live on the streets of Darktown if it would bring her back.

Mother, I think, is moving past this. She might believe it when Bethany says that she is happy in the tower, but I can see past those words she only says to keep our mother from worrying too much. How must it be, I wonder, to be able to find comfort in false words and reinstatement of past glory?

I suppose I've moved past the good things in life and into the regrets, haven't I? While I'm on the subject, I suppose I can cover another problem. The thing that led to this whole mess. The reason that I want to scream until all of Kirkwall knows the depths of my pain. That damned Deep Roads expedition.

Did it yield incredible riches? Without a doubt. Could it be considered "a success?" Perhaps. The only thing that matters to me is that it stole my sister from me, Varric's brother from him, and nearly got all of us killed and has caused me to largely lose my faith in humanity.

Varric can tell this story better than I, so I think I will abstain from saying any more on the subject at present, especially as just thinking about it is causing my quill to nearly rip through the parchment I write this upon.

On a completely different note, Mother has been hinting that now that we live in Hightown, perhaps I should be looking for a husband. Maker help me, if she invites another "eligible young nobleman" to dinner, I may be forced to demonstrate just how good my bowmanship is! Certainly, some of them are incredibly handsome, all of them are well thought of in the town, and some even have halfway decent personalities. There is something about all of them that will never appeal to me, though. I know that Mother (and most of them) think it is high time I stop "playing the soldier" and being more of a lady, but I could no sooner cut off my right arm: fighting is part of who I am, and I know that I will never be able to ignore that.

The other thing I will never be able to tell Mother (and can barely admit to myself, sometimes) is that my heart was inexplicably given to someone years ago; someone I doubt I'll ever see again, and even if I did, the chances of him remembering me are slim-to-none. Would the man who became the King of Ferelden look twice at a girl he knew for a scant afternoon, especially when there are sure to be hundreds of beautiful women at his court? Would Mother understand my fascination after all these years? No, it would probably be for the best if I could just move on. If only I could stop dreaming of amber eyes flecked with gold set in a chiseled face, a lopsided grin, and simpler times back in Ferelden.

I suppose I should stop dwelling on things that I cannot change, but the pain and anger is still so fresh that it may take me some time. In the interim, I suppose that I'll keep doing what needs to be done. I have a very important meeting with the Viscount tomorrow… who would have thought that little old me would ever have an audience with someone so important? Yet, here I am. I doubt that I will be able to do much to help, especially if this meeting concerns the Arishok (which I'm certain it does), but I suppose I will do my best. While I may have lost my faith in much of Kirkwall, I haven't given up hope completely; perhaps I may even be able to play some small part in helping it to become a better place.

* * *

_Alistair_

Who would have thought that the King of Ferelden, and the man who helped to defeat the Blight was a coward? For surely, a coward must be what I am. Oh, the whole kingly business hasn't been too bad. Ferelden is certainly on the mend, and our relationship with Orlais isn't looking to bad, either. Why am I a coward, you might be wondering? Well, let me enlighten you.

These last years Eamon has been relentless about me taking a wife. I suppose I can understand his reasoning, and I acknowledge that things would probably go much more smoothly if there were a little heir to the throne running around before I head off to Orzammar someday. Blood, after all, is really the only reason I'm on the throne to begin with, isn't it?

Still, you _would_ think that if I can face down darkspawn without flinching, it shouldn't be too hard to handle women, right? That's where you would be wrong. I'll admit it: I, Alistair Theirin, am a complete idiot when it comes to dealing with women.

First, it was Anora. I know it's hard to believe that I'd turn down my half-brother's widow who, coincidentally, happens to be a complete snake, but I did. Even though me being king hasn't caused the kingdom to dissolve into chaos as she thought it would, anyone can see that she thinks she could do better. No, there is no way that I would subject myself to the attentions of that perfectly charming woman.

More recently, Eamon has begun to introduce me to a variety of lovely young women from around Ferelden. All of them certainly are more than happy about the idea of becoming Queen, but I have no interest in any of them. None of them have seen me as anything past my title. None of them care about my experiences, my hopes, dreams, likes, dislikes… None of them see past my crown and see the person who I am. None of them save one.

The one woman I might have considered made it quite clear that, while she would become queen if it were required of her, would much prefer not to. Elissa Cousland, the youngest survivor of Howe's treachery many years ago, is far more interested in helping her brother to rebuild Highever than marrying me. I could not see myself taking her away from what is clearly her passion, and only hope that she and I can remain friends.

I suppose I shouldn't try to fool myself, though. There is only one woman who has ever haunted my dreams. Only one whose memory sustained me through those terrible times just a few short years ago. Only one whose raven hair and blue eyes I am certain I will never see again. Why can't I get over her? It's not as if I knew her well, or had a long and meaningful relationship with her, or even shared my hopes and dreams with. I made the mistake of telling Eamon and Teagan about her. Teagan seemed somewhat sympathetic, but Eamon simply laughed at my foolishness and told me he had found another girl who was sure to catch my fancy.

Maker, I think I need a holiday. Somewhere far away. Far enough away where I can forget that I'm king for a few moments. Perhaps far enough that I can begin to let go of a memory (as sweet as that memory might be). I don't think I'll go to Orlais; with our relationship on the mend, I'm too well-known there. Antiva doesn't sound particularly appealing, either, especially as the Crows are still none too happy with me.

Perhaps I'll go to Kirkwall.

* * *

**A/N:** _I struggled a bit with how to do this chapter, especially with Alistair's point of view. I know that Hawke's words are a bit dark, but I think that the game doesn't do the best job of portraying how Hawke must have felt at the end of Act 1, regardless of the outcome. Let me know what you think! I would like to extend a big thank you to those who are following, favorite-ing, and reviewing… Especially __**artilyon-rand**__, __**FenZev**__, and __**naomis8329**__ for their kind and encouraging words!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Fate**

_Hawke_

Well, things have certainly been tense in the city lately. Luckily, I have been in much better spirits, otherwise I don't think I could handle all of the viscount's problems, Arishok's demands, and blood mage conspiracies floating around.

While it is still hard without Bethany here, it has grown more bearable. She sent a letter the other day and it seemed the most optimistic she has been the last two years. She mentioned that she has been assigned a number of the youngest apprentices to mentor; I am happy for her, for this is something I know that she will enjoy. Perhaps there is some hope to be found in her situation after all.

Best of all, perhaps, is that Mother seems to finally be feeling better about Bethany as well. I think that our relationship is on the mend – it is definitely the best that we have gotten along since we moved to Kirkwall!

Mother seems to have finally given up on me finding a husband… at least for now. She still hints at it occasionally, but I think that she accepts that with how much I'm away, the type of work that I frequently do, and with the friends I keep close, it is perhaps not the best of ideas right now.

Speaking of friends, I suppose a lot has happened with them as well these past two years. Well, some of them, anyway.

Varric is the same as ever. I can't walk into the Hanged Man without seeing him telling people about all of our adventures (some of his tales are even partially true!). I think that he is recovering slightly from his brother's betrayal. He says that the buckets of gold we made have helped to ease that particular sting… It's either that, I think, or the ridiculously expensive ale he bought barrels of!

Aveline. Now _here_ is a tale that I don't think even Varric could elaborate on much to make it more unbelievable. I never thought of Aveline as anything but completely sure of every course of action she has ever taken. She is always so solid and reliable. Imagine my surprise when it finally came out that she was madly in love with one of the Guards! Maker, that's not even the best part: she is, without a doubt, the _worst_ person with men that I have ever seen! And I thought that _I_ was bad! Oh well, at least everything turned out in the end. Why she couldn't just come out and tell Donnic how she felt in the first place is beyond me, though. It certainly would have saved all of us a lot of time, and several of us a great deal of embarrassment.

Isabela and Merrill have been acting more and more strangely. I'm worried about both of them. Neither of them could be considered quiet or withdrawn. In fact, most of the time it's hard to get a word in edgewise, especially with Isabela! What worries me is that nobody seems to be able to get them to talk much. Merrill's obsession with the strange mirror in her home is certainly the cause of her melancholy: after I refused to aid her in repairing it, she barely spoke to me. Usually she calms down after awhile and recognizes that we were right. This time it has been different. Isabela, meanwhile, is a bigger puzzle to me. Oh, I know that damned relic has been on her mind ever since we met, and now she thinks that it's closer than ever. What concerns me is that the closer we come to finding it, the more and more withdrawn she becomes. It doesn't make any sense: you would think that she would be excited about the prospect of this fiasco finally ending, wouldn't you?

Anders is the person I am perhaps the most worried about. He barely visits any of us anymore, and looks constantly on the verge of either screaming or passing out. Maybe both. Yes, he did take it rather hard when I turned him down yet again when he alluded to the two of us romantically, but I don't think I can take full credit for this alarming transformation. I still can't shake the feeling that I have had for years now that he is hiding something. I find myself thinking that when this big secret _does _come out, I hope that we all survive it.

Fenris is someone I am glad to say is doing better than before! Oh, don't get me wrong, he is still as moody and terse as ever, but I can see some small changes in him that lighten my heart. Last year we tracked down Hadriana, one of Danarius's delightful protégées. After she told Fenris that he not only had a sister, but that she was also alive and not a slave, he subsequently went all glowy and did his signature punch of death. Once that was over with, he was perhaps more angry than I have ever seen him. I think his anger, though, was a good thing in many respects. He has finally started to open up more and confide in me, and I think that his overwhelming amount of anger and hatred is finally being channeled into something purposeful. I have a feeling that we will meet this Danarius sometime not too long from now.

Well, I suppose that I should stop writing for now and get ready; I am supposed to be meeting everyone at Varric's room in just a few hours. Today is my birthday, and we are all celebrating at the Hanged Man! Maker, I can't believe that I'm getting close to thirty! Mother brought home some sort of pink, frilly monstrosity masquerading as a dress yesterday, and says she thinks I would look "sweet" wearing it. I don't think she realizes that if I were to ever step outside our home wearing that thing I would completely lose the respect of friends and enemies alike! I did, however, consent to letting her do my hair for the occasion. I suppose that will take the better part of the afternoon seeing as it's grown so long. Even if I will be wearing my hair down, I think that tonight will be great fun… hopefully everyone will relax and, maybe, just maybe, we can all forget our troubles for a few short hours.

* * *

_Alistair_

I had forgotten how good it feels to be free from the oh-so-tight constraints of royal obligations! I must remember to thank Teagan again for convincing Eamon that some fresh air would be good for me (but more importantly, for not telling him exactly where I was going).

Oh, there are certainly the ups and downs to not being recognized. The good thing is that nobody is fawning over my ever word and seeing to my every desire (whether I've expressed it or not!) or giving me sage advice on how best to approach this problem or that situation. The _bad_ is that service is nowhere near as good as I've grown used to. Liam, I'm sure, is laughing heartily at me right now. It came as a shock when I ordered an ale and a loaf of bread with cheese and the delightful proprietor here brought me a dirty mug of what I'm certain was just muddy water – or maybe something less palatable than that, even – and a moldy piece of bread with no cheese. Oh well, I suppose that one has to make sacrifices when one is attempting to hide their royalty.

I don't think I even mentioned where I was, though! After a rather tortuous journey by ship, I landed in the Free Marches. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see solid ground – I am extremely glad that my journeys throughout Ferelden never required us to travel on water very often.

Kirkwall is an absolutely glorious city… Gloriously run down, that is. The ship landed in the harbors outside of the area they call The Gallows. Appropriate name, if you ask me, as the whole part of the city was downright creepy. I looked at some of the templars as I wandered through, and can't help but wonder if I would have turned out as serious and menacing as the ones in Kirkwall. Maybe I'm just biased, but I feel like the templars back home aren't _nearly_ as intimidating as they are here.

Intimidating? Did I really say that? They weren't intimidating to _me_ of course; I just think that, perhaps, the average citizen would find them rather threatening.

Well, after I got out of the Gallows I wandered through the rest of the city for a bit. I thought about staying somewhere in Hightown, which is certainly nicer than the rest of the city, but I have a nasty feeling that some nobleman or other who has an estate up there will have connections with Ferelden and recognize me instantly. Paranoid? Me?

What _was_ interesting is that I saw that one of the estates near Viscount's Way announced itself to belong to the Amells. Strange. If I recall, Liam's surname was Amell… I wonder if he has relatives here? Perhaps that might be worth checking into later on.

No, instead I find myself here in Lowtown. This is exactly the type of area I've been needing to travel to in order to get away from everything! It's dirty, filled with people who just want to mind their own business, and I strongly doubt there would be anyone here who would recognize me, especially without my good clothes and ceremonial sword on! My old sword is more comfortable, anyway, and far more practical.

I've taken a room for a few nights at a delightfully shady tavern called the Hanged Man (hence the watery ale and moldy bread I mentioned). While I'm not sure that I'll leave this place any cleaner than when I entered, it seems comfortable enough. Best of all, though, everybody here seems to mind their own business! There are lots of interesting types who seem to gather here… there was a dwarf downstairs earlier who was telling the most ridiculous tales! The strangest thing, though, was that the crowd seemed to actually believe every word he was saying! Well, maybe not _every_ word.

There is a rather loud group across the hall in a large room tonight. I think that I'll head back down to the bar and see what the rest of the night brings. The barman said that they had some sort of stew for dinner tonight… I'm sure it can't be worse than the charred sludge I make. Who knows, maybe that crazy dwarf will show up again – he was certainly good entertainment earlier! I've only been here one short day, but I'm glad that I took this time off. If only I had someone to share it with.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**A/N:** _Wow, I am SO sorry for the ridiculous delay! Between starting a new job and moving across the country I have had almost no time! This chapter is a bit short, but 6 is already in the making and will be out soon! I hope that some of you are still with me after this break, and I promise that now that I'm more settled in, I'll be much better about updates :)_

* * *

Hawke gradually awoke, keeping her eyes shut tightly against the intrusive rays of sunlight streaking into the room. She smiled slightly to herself as she remembered the dream she had just had… Of course it would have to have been a dream; there was no way that Alistair would ever want her the way that her impassioned dream lover had. She sighed, and rolled onto her stomach, pressing her face into the flat pillow.

_Flat? That's odd… I thought Mother had bought all new pillows when we moved into the manor._

Caera opened her eyes and squinted around. This wasn't her bedroom! Where in Thedas was she?

"Damn it, Varric," she muttered. That dwarf must have gotten her drunk last night and put her in a room at the Hanged Man. Disgruntled with the way her day was beginning, she pulled back the covers and started pulling on her clothes.

"Good morning, beautiful!"

She jumped as the voice addressed her. Barely able to breathe for hoping, Caera turned around slowly.

"I thought that after all our hard work last night, you might appreciate a little breakfast," Alistair said cheerily. "Not that I'd call this slop a particularly _good_ breakfast, mind you, but it's the thought that counts, right?"

"Alistair?"

"Well who were you expecting," he grinned, "Some other Ferelden king who's gone mad over you?"

Slowly, very slowly, the memories of last night rushed back to her, and Caera found herself blushing furiously. She had just slept with him! And not just anybody, either, the King of Ferelden! Feeling very close to being sick, she sat down quickly on the bed.

Alistair stepped forward quickly and knelt down in front of her. "Are you not well? What's wrong?"

"I – You –" she grasped madly for words, "I can't believe what we did. We shouldn't have! What will people think!"

He laughed. "What people?! Who here actually knows who I am? I don't care if they do know! I say let all of Thedas know how I feel about you!"

Caera swallowed, and looked up at him. "You really mean that?"

"With all my heart," he said, with a smile so kind she felt weak.

"It's just –"

He stopped her with a gentle finger to her lips. "I know that you're probably feeling a bit… overwhelmed with all this. I am too. But before you say anything else, I need you to know that the memory of that afternoon in Lothering is what sustained me through the entire Blight. I don't care that I'm a king, or that people expect me to marry one of the countless noble prats in Ferelden, or that you're here in Kirkwall. All I know for sure is that these past two days here in Kirkwall have been the happiest days of my life."

She nodded numbly. "I think I feel the same way, Alistair…"

"I sense a 'but' coming," Alistair smiled dryly.

With a weak laugh, she went on, "I just don't see how any of this – as wonderful as it is – can work out. I have my family to think about, and you can't exactly take care of Ferelden from Kirkwall. I mean, this place is practically on the brink of civil war as it is!"

Even though it was her saying the words, Caera couldn't help but feel her stomach sink from hearing them.

"You're right," he said softly, and her last shred of hope flew away, "I can't stay here. I can't ask you to come with me… I know what you've been doing here in Kirkwall, and I know that you're needed here. That doesn't mean that I'm going to let you go, though."

She looked up, tears threatening to spill. How could fate be so cruel? Here she was, sitting with the man she was sure she could fall in love with, but he was as still about as attainable as he had been during the Blight.

"I promise that I will come here as often as I can. Perhaps I'll even be of some use, being a king and all. Now that I know where you are, I will also write to you, and hope that you'll return the favor."

"Of course I will."

* * *

One short day later, Hawke and Alistair found themselves standing in the Gallows, both with their cloaks draw up to hide their faces. The ship he was taking back to Ferelden was due to leave any minute.

They embraced one last time. Hawke shed no tears today; she had to be strong, both for herself, her family, and her duties. As Alistair strode towards the ship, she had no way of knowing that he was already planning to return to The City of Chains as soon as he possibly could, and that next time he planned to bring Teagan with him to meet the woman who had haunted his dreams for so many years. Caera herself was desperately trying to think of a way to move back to Ferelden, but knew that it was impossible with her sister in the Tower, and her mother so thoroughly enjoying life here.

Neither of them had any idea that something else would bring them back together far sooner than they planned.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Hawke_

Maker, has it already been a month since he left? I feel so… empty. Anders, who knows that I met up with an "old friend," tells me that I haven't been myself, and that my old fire for our work has dimmed. I suppose it has. Oh, I certainly still do everything that the Viscount and Arishok kindly request of me, and I'm still as efficient as ever, but there's something missing. I can't help but think of how different things would be if Alistair were still here. Would he come along and help us root out slavers and rogue Qunari? Or would he sit in relative safety and watch from afar? I tend to think that, after all that life has handed him, he probably wouldn't be able to stand being left out.

Perhaps it's for the best. I know that I wouldn't be able to focus as well on my fighting and negotiating if I were constantly worried about his safety; I'd like to think that he'd feel the same way about me. And, as I have told myself a hundred times since that damned ship set sail, he couldn't just abandon his duties, nor I mine.

Bethany I have been worrying over constantly. She says she is doing well, and adores the children that she has been mentoring, but I've heard rumors from some of the Templars that they have been tightening their control over the mages recently. One of them was even made Tranquil last week for no reason other than showing up late to their chambers for curfew! Apparently, the Knight Commander felt that this was a sure sign that they were practicing blood magic. Surprisingly, several of her own Templars seem to be in (very secretive) disagreement with her actions! Things are certainly beginning to spiral out of control between these two factions, and my greatest fear is that Bethany will get caught up in it.

Meanwhile, I believe that Mother is doing quite well. Though I haven't been home much, she tells me that she has been keeping busy and is quite enjoying taking care of a proper household again. To me, though, it hasn't felt like a real home at all. Who am I fooling? Kirkwall hasn't ever felt like a true home to me, and I don't think it will even if I'm here for the next twenty years. Ever since Father's death, and then Carver's, and Bethany being taken from us, I don't know how to think of this foreign, shackled city as a place to fully set down roots. No, my home is still back in Ferelden. In Lothering. Back where I had more good memories than bad.

Perhaps it is also because of these thoughts that I find that it has been harder and harder for me to concentrate on my work, though. I have needed to be completely single-minded in order to even get through some things. I used to relish the thrill of the hunt, and enjoy bringing those Kirkwallian wrongdoers to justice, but lately I feel that I'm just going through the motions.

Maybe it's not just pointless memories of home or longing for a relationship that cannot ever be realized, though. I have been feeling rather ill lately; whether it's actually some sort of true sickness or just a product of my anxieties, I do not know. All I'm certain of at this point, though, is that if I'm not feeling significantly better in a day or two, I'm going to break down and go see Anders! After all, who wants to spend the better part of their morning and evening trying to keep their meals down? Perhaps something as simple as a good fight will put me back to normal!

Speaking of fights, there is a rather intriguing mission for tonight, though: Emeric has told us that he believes he has discovered the serial killer that has been on the loose in Kirkwall: some noble by the name of Gascard DuPuis. As Emeric feels he is too old to do much, and he can't exactly tell the rest of his order of his suspicions, it's up to me to get to the bottom of it. Tonight all we plan to do is look into the man's house, and see if there is any evidence against him. Anders, Fenris, and Varric will be accompanying me, and hopefully we can find something that will aid us in putting a stop to these murders once and for all.

Cases like this always tend to light that old fire within me more than others… perhaps this will revitalize my spirit a bit. I almost feel personally responsible for stopping these murderers, maybe because my family has lost so much. I can't even begin to imagine what losing a family member to something as cold-blooded as this would be like, though. Losing Carver in battle was bad enough, but I think that the knowledge that someone had coolly calculated out exactly how to kill someone I loved, for Maker knows what reason, would torture me.

Hopefully this particular mission will give me that passion back, and take my mind off of other things. I think, though, that afterwards I'll write to Alistair and let him know that I'm alright.

* * *

_Alistair_

My, oh my, the Maker certainly does have a cruel sense of humor. I can almost hear him scheming! "Hey, Alistair old boy, let me give you just two short days for you to reaffirm that, yes, this gorgeous woman is the only one you'll ever love. But that's all. Then you've got to go. Hope you had fun, though."

Did I say love? I did, didn't I? I suppose that makes it true, then: I am in hopelessly, shamelessly, and madly in love with this woman that I barely know. I can't believe that I was actually able to walk away from about the most perfect person I've ever met to come back to… this.

I'm not saying that I'm not happy here. I mean, I suppose anyone would prefer being a king during peaceful times to running around, trying not to die during a Blight. I'm just saying that I would be so much more content if _she_ were here to enjoy it with me. Eamon, blast him, is still convinced that I am completely out of my royal mind. He insists that Denerim is the only place to find a woman, and can't understand that none of them can even hold a candle to Caera.

Teagan, meanwhile, is somewhat sympathetic to this entire, messed up situation, but is still not sure why I would be in love with someone I've barely spent any time with. I think that he's somewhat convinced that I've fallen in love with the perfect memory of her that I created and held onto during that one, terrible year. I think that, if he could only meet her, face to face, he would see that the real person is so much more than even I can explain. Maker, I sound like a lovesick puppy, don't I?

Perhaps just as unbearable for me as not being near her, though, is not knowing what is going on at all. Kirkwall is in such a terrible state, and with Hawke running around trying to put out every fire (so to speak), I feel that it's only a matter of time until she gets seriously hurt. The stories that the dwarf told, while perhaps not completely true, left little room for doubt that she is nearly constantly in a state of danger. I know that she can handle herself, though: really, look at everything that she's already been through. I think, perhaps, that a small (or not so small) part of me wishes that I were out there with her, bashing in a few heads for old times' sake, and not stuck here at a desk in a castle.

I suppose that I should stop pining away, though, and do something useful. For example, I _could_ be spending this time convincing Teagan that it really is about time that he visited Kirkwall. With me. And if we just so happen to run across a certain raven-haired beauty, so be it!

* * *

**A/N**: I must say that I am extremely excited to get the next two chapters out! I thought about just jumping straight into it, but I think that it really needs this bit of an introduction. So much more action to come, very soon! Hope you all enjoy, and, as always, please leave me a little love!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Hawke_

I am helpless in the face of all of this. There is absolutely nothing I can say, and nothing I can do. Complete and utter powerlessness.

I only wish I knew what I had done to deserve this.

* * *

_Alistair_

Well, I must admit that I'm beginning to worry. I haven't heard from Hawke in weeks, and I have sent her countless letters. My sources tell me that they have arrived at her estate, and I have no idea why she wouldn't be answering.

Well, in all reality I do have several ideas, each more distasteful than the next. First, there's the chance that her entire household is conspiring against our relationship, and has secretly ferreted the letters out from under her nose; I believe this is probably both the best case scenario, and also the least likely. Second, though I don't care to even entertain this as a possibility, is that she no longer cares about me, and is just ignoring my correspondence. Finally, and worst of all, perhaps something terrible has happened to her. I wonder if I should go back to Kirkwall and find out what's going on, but if she truly doesn't want to see me again, I may do more harm than good. Perhaps I can get in touch with one of her cohorts…

In any case, I can't do much for the next fortnight, as I have meetings with the Orlesians, and, as Eamon is constantly reminding me, it is of "utmost import that we show them the finest hospitality during negotiations." So, I suppose I'll have to push aside my worries as best I can, don this wretched crown, and play the part of gracious and regal host.

* * *

_Two Days Later…_

"I'm telling you, Teagan, I really don't think that the Orlesians give a damn about what color the centerpieces are for tonight!"

"Yes, yes, I must say that I agree with you there," Teagan agreed doggedly, "But, as you know, Eamon wishes everything to be absolutely perfect for tonight's feast."

"And he thinks that the centerpieces are going to be a deal-breaker for our new trade proposition?"

Teagan was about to reply when a soft knock sounded on the door to Alistair's study.

"Yes, come in," Alistair grumbled.

A petite, elven handmaiden shyly pushed the door open. It looked as if she were trying to melt into the background.

"Well, what is it?" asked Teagan.

She simply held out an envelope, water-stained in several spots, and streaked with dirt in others.

Alistair jumped up, and grabbed the piece of mail, frightening the poor girl terribly, and hastily read who it was from. Not her.

"Well, is it from this mystery woman you've been mooning over?" asked Teagan, gently ribbing him with is elbow.

"No. Leave me for a moment while I look this over."

As soon as his uncle had left, Alistair sat down heavily, trying to take in what the letter said.

* * *

_Your Royal Highness,_

_It is with the greatest importance that I write to you today. We have never met, but I beseech you to hear me out. My name is Anders, and I was a Grey Warden before I left the Order and traveled to Kirkwall. I am one of Caera Hawkes companions, and have been with her on more missions than I can count._

_It is on her behalf that I write to you, now._

_Hawke mentioned that she had seen you briefly while you were in the city, but I know that you mean a great deal to her. Unfortunately, I fear for our friend, and I do not know who else to turn to for help. I am a mage, and my specialty is healing; I have brought many back from the brink of death, but I do not know what to do for Hawke. I fear that she has lost the will to live._

_She, as you well know, is an extremely strong and independent woman, but for all my power and ministrations, I see day by day that she is fading._

_For you to fully understand what is going on, I must take a little more of your time to tell you exactly what has transpired these past days._

_Hawke took two others and myself to look for evidence against a man, Gascard DuPuis, who was suspected of murdering women in the city. We scoured his home in Hightown, and all the signs that we saw pointed to his guilt: bloodstained women's clothing, vials of blood, and Shades in every corner of the house. When we finally found him upstairs, though, a most intriguing tale was revealed. He claimed that he was _also_ trying to stop the killer, and that he was using his blood magic to attempt to track down victims that had been taken (a highly unlikely take, I know). Hawke, however, decided to believe him and they agreed to contact the other if either of them found out anything new._

_The very next evening, Hawke burst through the doors of my apothecary, DuPuis and several of our companions in tow. She told me that her mother had been sent white lilies, and hadn't been seen all day. While this seems innocent enough, you must realize that this serial killer's mark was sending his victims lilies before he captured them. Needless to say, Hawke was frantic. _

_Using DuPuis' unfavorable powers, we were able to track the killer to an abandoned foundry in Lowtown. I will not bother you overmuch with the details of all that we saw, but there is some that you must know in order to understand what has happened to our Hawke. Upon reaching the killer, we found a sight that I know will haunt my dreams for years to come. This necromancer had been searching for years for women that had similar traits to his dead wife. Once he found all of them, he killed them, and began to reassemble his wife from parts of each of his victims. Poor Leandra Hawke was unfortunate enough to have the face the killer needed. _

_I do not believe that more description needs to be added. Naturally, the sight of this "creation" threw Hawke into a frenzy, and she almost single-handedly dispatched of the man and all of the demons that he had raised. It was no good, though. With the necromancer and his power dead, Leandra, or what was left of her, expired almost immediately._

_With her mother dead, Hawke understandably has been almost impossible to console. I believe that she is laying all of the blame for this incident on herself, and her coward of an uncle doing the same is not helping in the least._

_Unfortunately, my sad tale is not yet over. Yes, I agree that such a horrific death would be enough to send just about anyone spiraling into depression and maddening grief; it is not, however, the only reason that Hawke is nigh on unreachable. _

_You see, Hawke certainly was lost in her grief for a day or two. After that, she slowly began to come around, and spoke with each of us in turn. I was certain that she would eventually be fine. Then, the real blow came._

_You may or may not know that Hawke's sister, Bethany, is a mage. After we came back to Kirkwall from an expedition to the Deep Roads, Hawke found that her sister had been taken to the Circle. You also may know that tensions between the Templars and mages of Kirkwall have been steadily rising for years now, and it has almost reached a breaking point. _

_It was only three days after the death of her mother that Hawke received word from the Circle that Bethany had been made Tranquil. Bethany was about the most kind-hearted and least dangerous mage you could ever imaging meeting. She was responsible for the instruction of several of the children in the Circle. During one of their lessons, one of her charges nearly lost control of his spell, and a Templar rushed forward to kill the boy, believing that the child was attempting blood magic. Needless to say, Bethany reacted instinctively and put a shield of magic around the child. _

_Enraged at her interference, the Templar turned on Bethany instead. She was brought before the Knight Commander, and was turned Tranquil without even being given a trial. It was reported to Hawke that her sister was found to be guilty of blood magic._

_Perhaps this tragic ending can also serve to show you and others the extreme measures that the Templars have taken in Kirkwall. It is my belief that their ignorance, and especially the attitude of Knight Commander Meredith, that are to blame for this incident (and so many others like it). _

_Bethany was Hawke's dearest friend, and I believe the main thing that kept Hawke from falling apart after their mother's death. With her essentially gone, and being forbidden from visiting her, I believe that Caera has lost the will to go on. She, I think, believes that she has completely failed her entire family by bringing them to Kirkwall._

_So, Your Highness, I implore you: please, come to Kirkwall as fast as you are able. I think that you are the only one who has a chance of pulling Hawke back to us. _

_I wait and pray for your arrival,_

_Anders_

* * *

Alistair sat completely still for only a moment. He stood, dropped the letter, and was out of the door before it fluttered to the ground. He did not even bother to stop and explain the situation to Teagan on his way out of the castle.

* * *

**A/N:** _AHH! Oh no, what have I done… Please don't hate me! I promise that I will make it up to you soon. I would like to say HUGE thank yous to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, especially: **Eve Hawke, wintryone, FenZev, naomis8329, Sacred Bob, **and** fifespice**. You are all fantastic :)_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** _Thanks so much for all of the feedback on the last chapter, you are all so wonderful! I hope that you enjoy this :) In other news, I am starting a new DA fanfic! It is called "The Firebird," and I anticipate that I will have the first chapter out later today. If you are enjoying this story, maybe consider checking the new one out and let me know what you think! _

* * *

**Chapter 8**

_Alistair_

It's been three days since I landed in Kirkwall, Teagan at my side. Oh, yes, did I mention that my dear uncle saw me bolt out of the castle and decided to follow me to make sure I didn't get into too much trouble? In any case, I have been staying at Hawke's estate and Teagan at a rather moody elf's nearby mansion. You know, I never would have imagined the two of them getting along, but the arrangement seems to be suiting them both just fine. I saw them practicing their swordplay the other day, and probably would have joined in if my mind weren't so occupied on Hawke. That, and the elf practices with a greatsword that is far larger than any I've ever seen. Well, except for Sten's, maybe.

I can't even begin to adequately describe how I felt when I first walked into her bedchamber, accompanied by her very protective healer, Anders himself. He certainly is… different… but more on that later. Hawke looked nothing like I remembered her from only weeks earlier: she was so unbearably pale, and thin to the point that I feared I would break bones just by holding her hand. Anders told me that she had barely been eating anything, and that she refused to get up and move around at all.

I'd like to think that it is my presence that has caused her to come around a bit, but I believe that Anders has also had quite an impact on her. Yesterday I saw them talking quietly together, and it seems that her most radical transformation began then. Whatever he might have told her, I am eternally grateful. Still, she has a long way to go until she is fully recovered. She is still frighteningly weak, though, but thanks to her eating almost normally again she is beginning to recover.

Her eyes, though, are what worry me the most. She appears so haunted. But really, what she has been through these past weeks would have utterly destroyed most people. Maker, it almost destroyed her. Most of the time, she and I sit quietly together in the library or her room. We speak little, but I like to think that I've brought her some small measure of comfort. Last night was the best yet, though: she only awoke screaming twice. Terrible, isn't it, that I'm classifying that as a good night?

Just moments ago, though, sitting here at this desk, I caught Hawke looking over at me from her settee. The raw emotions in her face: I doubt even the most skilled of artists could have captured that look perfectly. Intense sadness, pain, and grief were all there, of course. More surprisingly, though, was this gleam of hope and anticipation mixed with fear. I don't know at all what that could be about, and I certainly don't understand how one person could feel all that at one time!

I only hope that Hawke can recover enough before the Viscount himself comes crashing through the door. He sent an urgent message two days ago, requesting that she come and see him. Not having heard back immediately, he has already had two of his servants come calling at the estate. Pretty soon we are going to run out of excuses for why Hawke is gone. Plus, as Teagan is constantly reminding me, I need to stay as out of sight as possible and remain uninvolved in the city's politics. Wise advice, I suppose, seeing as the Templars here apparently don't think much of the Ferelden king's lack of commitment to their order; not to mention his friendship with a mage (Grey Warden or not).

Anders, though, is quite the mystery to me. While I think I'll be forever in his debt because of what he's done for Hawke, I'm not sure I entirely trust him. Oh, he seems nice enough most times, but every so often, a shadow crosses his eyes, and it frankly just creeps me out. He also doesn't strike me as the Grey Warden type (which is perhaps exactly why he left). I don't understand that, though – being a Warden, in my opinion, is the single greatest honor that has ever been bestowed upon me. He, on the other hand, seems to deeply resent the Order and is terribly happy that he's done with us.

I also feel that he is keeping something from me. I spoke to him after he left Hawke's side yesterday, but he refused to say what they had been discussing, and just gave me a noncommittal shrug and said something like, "Just something to do with her health and recovery." Odd, that. Maybe Hawke will let me know later what that was all about.

For now, I suppose that I will just have to stay as unnoticed as possible, and help Hawke in any way that I possibly can. Perhaps, now that her family is gone, she might consider coming back to Ferelden. With me.

* * *

_Hawke_

How does someone recover from something like this? How do you let go of all of the pain and anger inside of yourself, and learn to be happy again? I have no idea. I know that I am nowhere near being healed, and I don't think that I ever will feel truly whole again.

I am so unbearably tired. Tired of all of the hate in this town, tired of people expecting that I'll be able to fix everything, and tired of the cloud of sadness that has followed my family ever since we left Lothering.

Oh, I'm sure that eventually I'll recover as much as I can, and get back to old business here in Kirkwall. But really, what is the point anymore? My mother, the only one of us who was actually happy here, is dead. Killed for no reason other than her resemblance to a mad-man's dead wife. My sweet sister, who always used her magic for good, is Tranquil – a fate she called worse than death! They were the only reasons for my being here, and the only things keeping me from packing my things and heading straight back to Ferelden after the Blight. So what's keeping me here, now?

Really, from what I've been able to tell from the last few days, Alistair would be more than happy to have me back in Ferelden. I'm sure that I could eventually learn to be happy again there, especially with him. Maybe I'll consider it.

But wait, there's my damned honor to think about. It really _would_ be so easy to just tell everyone else here that I'm taking off, and "good luck" with everything going on in their lives. But, after years of traveling with them, learning about them, and laughing and crying with them, I couldn't do that. No. Varric, Aveline, Anders, Fenris, Merrill, and Isabella – _they_ are the family I have left. The family I would be leaving behind.

I'm sure that Varric would be fine. He's always been quite independent, and he's got a good head on his shoulders. Maker, I would miss him and his outlandish stories, though. Aveline, too, would be alright. She is utterly devoted to her job, as well as to a certain guardsman. She really has the sort of life I was hoping for once we came to Kirkwall. There is no point dwelling on things I can't change, though.

But the rest of them? 'Bella I have no doubt would be alright if I left, if not for the sneaking suspicion I have that she would use and betray the others to no end. If nothing else, she is a consummate survivor. And poor Merrill, she craves guidance, and I know she would be heartbroken if I were to leave. Then there's Fenris – there is no getting away from the fact that I promised him that _no matter what_ I would be there at his side to bring his old master to justice… whenever he decides to show up, that is. And finally, Anders. Oh, Anders, what are we going to do with you? I still have no idea what is going on in his head, but I think I need to be around to save him – even if it's from himself. I owe him that much.

It was Anders who spent so much time with Bethany after we had first met him, assuring her that it was possible to stay hidden from the Kirkwall Templars. Anders who mourned with me after Bethany was taken to the Circle, and vowed that he would bring them to justice. Anders who confessed to me before anyone else of his connection with Justice. And, of course, it was and still is Anders who tells me how much I mean to him, and what my friendship has done for him.

He knows, now, exactly how I feel about Alistair, and has since bowed aside with a surprising amount of grace (perhaps that was Justice's influence, as he has never exactly approved of me). He has been there for me ever since these two tragedies have struck, and even sent for Alistair,

How do you leave someone like that behind, especially when you know they will need your help again? I don't think I could, in good conscience at least.

More than anything, though, it was Anders, or rather his words, that brought me out from my desire to die. More, even, than Alistair miraculously showing up just days ago. Indeed, it was Anders, and his unbelievable announcement, whispered in my ear yesterday evening, that gave me a reason to keep going, and to fight to keep Alistair in my life no matter what.

I am pregnant.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Just tell her how you feel."

"Andraste's ass, Teagan. I can't very well do that!"

Teagan rolled his eyes and ran his hands irritably through his red hair. "Ohhhh, of _course _not. Why _ever_ would you actually want to do the logical thing?"

"Well, here, let me try it on you, then. 'So, Caera, I know that you're still reeling from your losses and all, but I think I have the perfect solution: come back to Ferelden with me! I've got loads of extra rooms in this castle that I live in and the food's fantastic!' Right. That'll certainly sweep her off her feet."

"Just. Tell. Her. How. You. Feel."

Alistair groaned in exasperation. Didn't anyone actually understand how hard this was for him?

"Right. Well, I'm off, then, to go lay my poor heart on the line and see if Hawke decides to run it through with one of her arrows."

Alistair walked slowly through the back alleys of Hightown, hood drawn in an attempt to mask his identity. Taking this particular route was a fairly time-consuming trip from Fenris's to Hawke's, but in far too short of a time, the king found himself met at the door by Bodahn.

The dwarf and his son had been exceedingly happy to see him again – after all, they had spent nearly a year traveling together and sharing tales. Today, though, Bodahn seemed far more anxious than he had before.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here, your Highness! Please, follow me and I'll take you to Mistress Hawke."

Alistair walked in on a full-blown argument, his hopes of sweeping Hawke off her feet dashed.

* * *

"No, Hawke! Absolutely not!"

The blonde mage's eyes were flashing with frustration and worry. Hawke turned to Anders and regarded him coolly after his outburst had passed.

"Last I checked, Anders, it was _I_ who made the final decisions on these matters. Not you." The only thing belying her calm façade was the overly tight grip on her pen, causing it to drop small flecks of ink onto her parchment. She then turned to the new arrival.

"Alistair, thank you for coming."

He nodded to acknowledge her greeting. Alistair would have normally been overjoyed to see Hawke back in business mode, but there was something wrong. Something that showed in the tight faces of everyone who sat around the table. This was very clearly _not_ the time to be bringing up Hawke moving back to Ferelden.

"Hawke –" Anders pressed, "I really don't think this is a good idea. We can handle it. You should stay here in your–"

She shot the briefest glance in his direction, so quickly that Alistair almost missed the motion.

"I mean, what with you still recovering," he finished lamely.

_What in the name of the Maker was going on here?_

"Anders," Hawke began, starting to look strained, "You know perfectly well that the only one of us the Arishok will actually talk to is me. It would only make the situation far worse were you all to go without me there."

"It's just that –"

"Enough," Hawke snapped, finally losing her patience with the healer. "Alistair?"

"Milady?"

"I suppose we should fill you in on the situation. I went to see the Viscount this morning, figuring I had held it off far too long already. His son, Seamus, has apparently converted to the Qun."

"Umm…right," he replied, not knowing what was so bad about that.

_Sten wasn't actually all that bad, once you got past the whole murdering-an-entire-family thing. He was positively friendly for a Qunari once he got his sword back!_

Seeing his confusion, Hawke elaborated, "You need to understand that tensions between the Qunari and the humans here have risen to breaking point; particularly between the Arishok and Viscount Dumar. His son has been a known supporter of the Qunari for years now, and it has caused many to doubt the Viscount's control over the situation. If an agreement isn't reached – and soon – well…"

"Kirkwall is in for a world of pain, courtesy of ten-foot-tall, white-haired, horned, and very upset Qunari with large swords?" Alistair put in, attempting in vain to diffuse the gravity of the situation with humor.

Hawke just nodded grimly.

"Mage, I do not see the problem with this," Fenris put in. "If Hawke feels that she is well enough to handle this, I believe her. She will, as always, have us there to support her should the need arise."

"It's not that," Anders persisted, "It's just that –"

Again he was cut off by the smallest look from the woman sitting at the head of the table. She stood up, and addressed everyone with finality.

"Alright, I need to see the Arishok as soon as I can get down there. I want Fenris along, since he has gained a measure of respect from the Qunari as well, and probably Merrill as well. Aveline, since Isabela is so set on checking out this lead of hers, I'd like you, Anders, and Varric to go with her… do try to keep her from doing something stupid, would you?"

She turned and began to walk out of the room, and gestured for Alistair to follow her. She pulled him aside and spoke softly.

"Alistair, I'm so sorry to do this, but I need to… I think that I might be the only one who can keep this from spiraling completely out of control. Maker… Utter chaos is still a very real possibility."

"Can I do anything to help at all? Perhaps go and speak with the Viscount?"

"No! That would cause an uproar having the Viscount and then Knight Commander know that you're here… I think," she began after a pause, biting on her lower lip, "I may have to ask you to just stay here for now. We'll be back soon; I only need to speak to the Arishok, after all."

Alistair clenched his hands rather tightly at his side before loosening them and placing them gently on Hawke's tightly held shoulders.

"Fine," he said at last. "But, if you aren't back before sundown, I swear I'll come find you, hood down, sword drawn, royal face out for everyone to see."

She gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Caera," he eventually asked, very quietly, "Is everything alright with you and Anders? Things seemed a bit… er… _touchy_ in there, to say the least."

She raised her head quickly. "Yes. Just fine. Only a bit of a… disagreement about my health." Her tone left Alistair in no doubt that she didn't wish to pursue the subject any further.

He nodded slowly. Then, not caring about anything else except that moment, Alistair gently cupped her soft cheek in his hand, and gave her a slow, simple kiss. He squeezed her hand softly.

"Just be careful, ok?"

Hawke just nodded, and watched Alistair walk to the library to wait. She began to walk towards her bedroom to change into her armor and retrieve a fresh quiver of newly-fletched arrows when Anders walked out from behind a statue.

"Hawke…" he said, a warning in his tone.

"Anders, I know," Hawke said, her hard demeanor from earlier evaporating, now replaced by pain and worry.

"You need to tell him."

"I can't. I just don't know how," she whispered back, the beginnings of tears starting to glisten in her eyes.

"He's a good man, Hawke," Anders said, his emotions betraying nothing, "He deserves the truth. You owe that much to him."

As he swung his feathered cape around his shoulders, the mage took hold of his staff and walked out of the door to meet up with Aveline and Varric, not sparing a backwards glance to the woman behind him.

Hawke took a deep breath and began to climb the stairs to gather her things.

_I can do this. I can tell him. Just… not yet._

* * *

Five hours later, she burst back into the house with Fenris and Merrill, anger flashing in her eyes as she dropped her blood-spattered cloak on the ground. Varric came in shortly after. Alistair came crashing down the stairs as he heard them arrive, and fought down a moment of panic before realizing that the blood wasn't hers.

"Varric, you had better explain what happened. I can't bring myself to repeat it just yet," she spat out as she sat down heavily.

The dwarf, uncharacteristically serious, began to talk. For once, he didn't embellish his tale at all.

"We got to the warehouse and met Isabela outside without too much trouble. We went in, though, and it was pandemonium… Qunari, mages, even a Sten! We were lucky to make it out, especially after that bitch took her relic off a body and left us to finish the fight without her. By the time we took down the Sten, she was long gone. The only thing we found was a hastily scrawled note, spewing some bullshit about us 'not understanding' what she had to do, and that she was 'so sorry' to have used us like that. I think she's just lucky Hawke wasn't there to chaser her down and gut her then and there."

Hawke continued to stare stonily at the dark wood-grain of the table she sat at, methodically oiling her unstrung bow.

"What exactly was this 'relic' she took?" Alistair asked cautiously.

"It's something Rivaini's been after for years. We all assumed it was just another piece of valuable treasure she'd lost. Turns out it was actually something she'd stolen from the Qunari: a tome written by Ashkaari Koslun, who founded the Qun." Seeing the astonished look on Alistair's face, the dwarf smiled wryly, "Yeah, you get the picture. Kind of important to the Qunari. Her little bit of thievery is the entire reason they are still even in this Maker-forsaken town."

At these last words, Hawke took the small dagger she had been cleaning and slammed it point-first into the table.

"Damn her. I can't believe after everything we've done to help her she decides to just leave with it."

"I do not know what we can do to explain this to the Arishok," Fenris put in. "It would, though, be best to be as straight-forward with him as possible if we value our lives."

Hawke just nodded. After a moment's pause, she picked up Varric's tale. "Isabela isn't the only bit of trouble that we ran into today, though."

"What? There's more?" asked Alistair, "This is beginning to sound like some of the days I had, back when I was traipsing through Ferelden."

Hawke didn't smile, but just looked up and met his gaze with her icy one. "Seamus Dumar is dead."

* * *

**A/N: ** _Well, this was a tough one for me to write. I'm hoping that it is a sufficient one to keep the momentum going into the next big thing! Thanks again to all of you for your support and reviews! _


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** _Alright, so I wrote this chapter just a bit differently, because I wasn't quite sure how to approach it. Please do let me know what you think, your reviews are what keep me writing! I should have the next chapter up fairly soon, but I'm working on finishing off the next bit of "Firebird" first. Enjoy :)_

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Alistair didn't do anything but stare for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open. Eventually he found his voice.

"Seamus Dumar, as in, Viscount Junior, is dead?"

Hawke just nodded grimly.

"Well," he replied, "that certainly has the potential to… complicate… things."

Varric laughed darkly. "You _do_ have quite the way with words, your kingliness, don't you?" He turned then to address Hawke, "So do you want to tell him the story, or should I?"

Again, Hawke remained silent, just waved her hand at the dwarf to continue. Varric launched into his tale, albeit with a good deal less embellishment than was normal. The entire time that he spoke, Alistair noticed that Hawke's lips drew into a tighter and tighter line, her tension evident. As he finished, Hawke stood.

"I don't know what we can do now. I think that some sort of confrontation between the Arishok and Viscount is inevitable at this point," she started. "Maybe, the only thing we can do is just –"

"Hawke!" Aveline called, interrupting the conversation as she and Anders came running through the front door, "We have a problem."

"Really? Another one?" Varric jested, "And I thought we'd met our quota of drama for the week."

The guard captain shot a glance in his direction that would have made most men run and hide; Varric just fell silent, still smiling.

"What's the problem now, Aveline," Hawke asked wearily.

"I'm going to be perfectly blunt, since there's no other way I can think to explain the situation," Aveline said, all business. "The Qunari have seized the keep. The nobles there are being held hostage. The Guard and I weren't able to stop them."

"Ah, yes. That _would_ qualify as a problem, I think," Varric put in. For once, his jesting drew no laughter.

"I don't want this to turn into a slaughter, Hawke, and I think you're the only one who might be able to talk some sense into them."

"Let's go," the dark haired woman replied, standing and securing her bow and daggers. "Alistair, we will be back soon."

* * *

… One hour later…

* * *

_Hawke_

_There is something extremely wrong here – I have never been to the Viscount's keep before and seen it so eerily quiet. There is usually no shortage of nobles whining about the long wait to see the Seneschal or Viscount, always a steady stream of shouting and laughter coming from the barracks, even hastily mumbled greetings coming from the servants running back and forth. This utter lack of noise is unnerving. _

_We head up the seemingly endless staircases to confront the Arishok, Anders hanging protectively close to my back. I understand his worry, and it is the same as mine: there is no getting around the fact that I should not be walking into almost certain danger when I am carrying the King of Ferelden's child. Maker, maybe I should have told him before we ran off. Maybe it's better this way, though, especially if the worst were to happen._

_I push open the huge double doors leading to the chamber that will certainly reveal the nobles that Aveline told us about – there is simply no other room large enough left that we haven't checked yet. My boots squelch underfoot. There is a small pool of blood that I have stepped into. Exactly whose blood becomes immediately obvious: a blood-spattered, gold circlet sits, carelessly discarded in the gore. _

_The Arishok and I exchange few words. Both of us, I think, know that there is no easy way to walk away from the situation at hand. What _does_ surprise me, though, is the fact that he believes my assurances that I can get the relic back, but still insists that he and his kind will conquer Kirkwall. The only way he and his kind will leave is if we can defeat his entire army. That, or I defeat him in single combat. _

_At this declaration, several things happen at once. Anders immediately grabs my arm, insisting that we find another way; Fenris gives a humorless laugh, assuring me that he knows I am more than a match for the Arishok; Varric, who I am sure has his suspicions of what is going on, looks at me, speechless for perhaps the first time in his life. _

_What else can I do? I cannot allow my friends to fight this many Qunari at once, especially in such tight quarters and with so many innocents packed around the edges of the room. I shudder to think of the carnage that would be inevitable if a full-scale battle were to take place among the nobles of Kirkwall – I doubt that any of them have dealt with anything more bloody than the occasional scrape or cut in their lives._

_No, there is only one way to end this, and that is to accept his offer. He rises, and instructs his warriors to leave immediately should he fall. I tell my friends to do their best without me should I be the one to lose. My death seems closer now than it ever has before… as the Qunari leader stalks towards me, I can tell that I am at a distinct disadvantage: I am an archer, and while that is useful when I have places to run to, I am boxed in here. Finally, he stands a mere ten strides in front of me._

"Die well, Hawke."

_And so it begins._

_He barely gives me a second to grasp the fact that this dance of death has begun before he charges straight at me, not even bothering to draw the swords at his back. Luckily, years of training cause my instincts to kick in, and I am able to jump out of the way. As the Arishok skids to a stop, placing his hands on the wall he nearly bowled into with his incredible momentum, I am able to fire off just one arrow. He notices, though, and my missile only grazes his broad shoulder. Hopefully that slight blood loss will slow him down, if only a little bit. Hopeful thinking, I know._

_Unfortunately, he doesn't even seem to notice the crimson stain that is slowly spreading on his tunic. He simply walks towards me, this time drawing both of his massive blades. I draw my own, far smaller daggers – the weapons I am far less comfortable with – and take a deep breath._

_He swings at me over and over, my only advantage my smaller size and much faster reflexes. I am unable to land any blows either, though, for fear of getting too close to those flashing blades of steel. I begin to worry that this battle will perhaps only be decided by who is able to outlast the other, and I fear that I already know the answer to that._

_The fight continues for what feels to my slowly flagging muscles like hours, though it is only minutes. I am able to score a number of small hits, but nothing critical. I begin to feel like I am only a small, stinging pest to this great hulk of a warrior: he seems to shrug off the bite of my blade the same way that I would the sting of a bee. I know that my only hope of besting him will be to somehow gain enough distance from him to fire off another few shots with my bow, but how I will do this I know not._

_Knowing that the only way that I will be victorious is to somehow take the Arishok off his guard long enough for me to dart away, I do something very foolish. I spin deftly to his back, and kick at his legs as hard as I can, hoping to take him down. I partially succeed. In my exhaustion, my muscles fail to respond with their usual speed. His first blade misses by inches. His second does not. I know that I must look surprised when I look down and see the thin blade buried deep into my side, but what confuses me the most is that I feel almost no pain. _

_He is smiling now, knowing that he is assured of his victory now. He pulls his blade out, and now I do feel the pain. I hear someone cry out, and I think it might be me. This is no time for me to be weak, though; I am accustomed to working through pain, and I must do so now. I back up slowly, trying to see through the air that has grown uncommonly thick before my eyes. My adversary also backs away, knowing that he will win, savoring the moments while I am weak before he comes in for the final blow._

_It will never come. I pull out my bow and an arrow faster than I think I ever have in my life. I draw the string back, the lightly oiled smell sharp in my nostrils as it grazes the side of my nose and lips. I breathe out softly, and let the arrow fly, a grey and brown blur that carves a path to its mark; this time, it does not miss. He falls to his knees, my arrow jutting from his neck; he breathes out slowly, a small trickle of red carving a thin path out of the corner of his mouth. _

_I find myself on my knees as well, looking at the Qunari in front of me, who cocks his head to the side curiously. _

"Ataash varin kata. Panahedan, Hawke."

_His words echo strangely in my ears. I am suddenly, inexplicably, looking at the polished vaulted ceiling. The patterns are mesmerizing… How have I not noticed that before? Someone is shouting from far away, perhaps a great many people. _

_I think that I will shut my eyes, just for a moment…_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Varric burst into the estate, breathing heavily from sprinting straight from the Keep to Hawke's home. "Kingy, don't lose it on us, ok?"

Alistair stood, shock etched plainly onto his face. "What do you mean, Varric? Tell me what happened. Now."

"No time now. You'll understand in a mo—"

Anders and Fenris came into the estate as Varric was speaking, and what had had happened was immediately apparent. For Alistair, his anger evaporated as he felt his world begin to crush down upon him.

_Hawke… No, no, no! You can't be – _

As if reading his thoughts, Anders broke in. "Not dead, but will be if we don't work fast." He turned and yelled, "Bodahn! I need hot water and towels, fast!"

Together, he and Fenris got Hawke upstairs and on a spare cot. This was no time for modesty, and they began to cut her clothing off in order to give Anders access to her wound.

Anders, grimacing after choking back a lyrium potion, spoke to Alistair, who was hovering with anxiety, concern written plainly on his face as the bloodied clothing was carefully removed. "You can stay, but you may not want to see this… it likely not be a pretty wound."

Alistair shot the mage a look of incredulity. "I am certain that I have seen far more horrific things in my life. The difference here is that it is someone I love dearly lying in her own blood."

Anders nodded, and peeled back Hawke's under-tunic. The wound, at first glance, didn't look awful: characteristic of a stab wound, the cut's length and width wasn't alarming, but there was blood seeping out at a steady rate. The cause for worry was the depth, and the Arishok's blade had gone clean through her back as it exited.

The mage raised his hands, and blue light began to glow, but didn't enter Hawke's body.

"What are you waiting for?" Alistair cried out, "Heal her!"

Varric placed a hand on his shoulder and explained. "Sparkle Fingers knows what he's doing… Fenris got a stab wound awhile back, and he's checking for the extent of internal damage before he heals it. This isn't as simple as knitting skin and muscle back together. All he needs to do is figure out if something… vital… was hit."

Alistair swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting his voice. He looked up as Anders exhaled and shook his arms out.

"None of her organs appear to have been damaged, which is lucky. The danger now is the amount of blood that she's lost. I need all of you to leave for a while, since this healing is going to take some time, and I don't want any noises or conversation that could distract me."

Varric and Fenris nodded, and began to walk out. Alistair, however, took a small step forward, a look of grim determination on his face.

"I stay. I swear to you I won't make a sound, but I'm not leaving her like this."

Anders looked at the expression on the other man's face for just a moment before nodding his assent. He then turned his gaze down, rolled up his sleeves, and began the lengthy process of healing Hawke.

* * *

_Alistair_

It has been over a day since Anders finished working on her. He assures me that she will be fine, now, but it's hard to believe it as I sit next to her bed. Every slight movement she makes has me on the alert, her shallow, uneven breaths have kept me in a constant state of near panic, the occasional quiet and pained sounds that escape from her lips are breaking my heart little by little.

Her companions have told me what transpired at the Keep, and it seems that Varric is even telling the truth this time. I think that his friend's current condition has curbed his creative tongue to a degree. I cannot believe that they allowed her to face a Qunari in single combat! I shudder to think of the state that I would have been in had Sten ever decided he didn't care for me anymore, and this was the _Arishok_ that she faced! I can't help but feel that, had I been there, I might have been able to do something to keep her safe.

Andraste's ass, who am I fooling, though? At the first hint of "single combat to the death," I probably would have done something entirely stupid, like throw down my gauntlets in a fit of gallantry and challenge the entire group of Qunari to face me. Yes, that sounds more like me than attempting something wordy and diplomatic, especially when pretty women are around to see it.

Once Caera recovers, though, I think I really do need to have that talk with her that Teagan and I were planning before all of this nasty business got in the way. I don't think that there's any way I could leave her behind in Kirkwall after this… I need to find some way to get her to agree to come back to Ferelden.

* * *

_Hawke_

_For the last eternity it seems that I have been trapped in a maelstrom of uncontrollable thoughts and visions. Are they dreams? Are they reality? I'm not sure anymore. I do know that my vision seems to be less blurred than the last time I remember. There are small memories that keep floating back to me and piecing themselves together, like shards of glass that assemble back into a shattered window. I remember my horror upon realizing that the Viscount was dead. I remember fighting… perhaps that explains the pain that laces through my side. Most of all, I remember blood – lots of it – crimson red, almost black, running in thin rivulets across marble floors. Whose blood was it? The viscount's? The Arishok's? Mine? I'm not entirely sure I want to remember that. _

_I think that I must be back in my home, perhaps in my bed. Strange, I feel that I am unable to move, though. Maybe I'm not truly awake, yet… aren't you usually able to move if you've awoken? Every so often I think I can make out scraps of conversations, but these are as broken as my memories. The thing that seems most real, though, is the pair of eyes that I can occasionally make out: bright amber, like honey over toasted bread, with sunshine glinting off of it. I know these eyes, but if they really are there, then perhaps I _am_ dead, because surely they belong to one of the Maker's own children. If I'm dead, maybe I'm in the Fade… this feels like what Bethany always described to me._

_These eyes come into focus more and more often, though. Maybe I'm not dead after all. The more I see them, the more real this waking state feels. I almost feel as if I'm swimming through a stormy sea, occasionally catching a glimpse of the life-giving air somewhere above me. I think I'm getting closer, now. Those eyes, like beacons from a lighthouse calling me home, seem closer and brighter than ever. The closer I get, though, the more real the pain that courses through me gets, burning through my veins like liquid fire._

_If I can just go a little further, maybe it will all make sense. Just a little further…_

* * *

"Good morning, beautiful. I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see your eyes open."

I look around, and suddenly there is no doubt that I actually am in my room, and that my body does indeed feel as if it's been torn asunder and put back together again. Most of all, though, those eyes – Maker, those wonderful eyes – are really looking at me right now.

"Alistair –" I manage to choke out, and wince immediately afterwards with how pained and rough it sounds.

"Caera, you'll be ok… Anders has patched you up, but I'm afraid you might be stuck here in bed for a bit. In case you don't remember, a rather large pointy thing got shoved straight through you not so long ago."

I hear the joking words, but the humor doesn't reach his voice. Maker… what have I done to deserve waking up to such a wonderful person who is this concerned about me? I feel like such a coward, now, staring into that earnest face. How could I have kept this incredible secret from him? Will he ever forgive me once I do tell him?

My train of thought stops abruptly. Oh, sweet Andraste, is the baby even still _alive_ after what just happened? I swallow hard.

Alistair must have noticed some slight change on my face. "Are you alright? Do you need me to get Anders? You just got terribly pale all of a sudden."

I can't say anything, I just nod. Yes, Anders is the only person who can either confirm my worst fears, or assuage my worries and give me the chance to tell Alistair what I _should_ have told him days ago.

Moments later, he returns with Anders. I've known Anders so long, now, that all it takes is one pleading look from me and he knows instantly what I'm asking him. He sits at my side, and I feel the slightest rush of warmth as his magic flows into me, seeking the answer that I am so desperate for.

I'm unable to keep the anxiety out of my voice, "Anders? Is… am I… is everything alright?"

He looks at me with the smallest smile, and nods. "I think, Hawke, that now would be a good time to make sure that you take care of yourself, and to get any… pains or concerns… out in the open."

I nod slowly. Even if I wanted to, I don't think that I could keep this to myself any longer after all that has transpired. I begin to turn to Alistair, hopeful and fearful all at the same time. Before I have a chance to figure out how to even broach the subject, he speaks first.

"Caera, what's going on? Please tell me. I can tell there's something on your mind, and I'll eat a nug if I'm wrong about that."

I can't even smile at his joking right now. How could I? What I'm about to tell him is going to shake our worlds, for better or for worse.

"Alistair, there's something I've been meaning to tell you… Something I should have told you days ago."

I look up into his eyes, searching for courage in those impossibly amber depths.

"I'm carrying a child. Your child."

* * *

**A/N:** _Ok, the wait is over! I hope that all of you enjoy! This chapter is dedicated to the lovely __**naomis8329**__, who has been wanting this conversation and outcome from the very start! Please let me know what you think… reviews are my addiction!_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Update:** As of November 3, 2012, my pen name has changed from Rhapsody88 to **Kyla Baines**._

**A/N:** _I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter! My attention got pulled to my other stories for a bit! This story is winding down, and there are only a couple of chapters left before we finish up. In advance, I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read, follow, favorite, and leave me all those lovely little reviews! I hope that the tail-end of this story is everything you all hoped for! _

* * *

**Chapter12**

_Alistair_

_This woman – this absolutely beautiful woman – is lying in bed, and she just said something, but for whatever reason it hasn't quite registered yet. Am I in shock? Is this what it feels like? Wynne always told me that I acted a bit odd – well, odder than normal, anyway – when something big happened. Like the time Leliana faked her own death during battle, and I didn't realize she was actually still alive until hours later. I feel like I've actually gone crazy this time, though – I could have sworn that she said she was pregnant? That can't possibly be true, though! I was always told it was nearly impossible for Grey Wardens to father children. I must be hearing things again._

* * *

"What was that, again?"

Caera just stared at him for a moment.

"Are you _mad_? Did you even hear a word I said, Alistair?"

Alistair shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry. I thought so, but then I realized I was being daft, again." At a raised eyebrow from Hawke, he was forced to elaborate. "Well, here's the thing: I _thought_ you said that you were with child, but I _know_ that can't be right, since Grey Wardens almost never have children. See what I mean?"

He tore his gaze from the floor to meet her icy stare.

"Alistair." Hawke's voice was exceedingly quiet, and laced with intent. "Maker as my witness, if you don't listen to me, I will get off of this bed – wound or no wound – and personally throttle you."

The king of Ferelden, fearless in the face of darkspawn and demons, wilted under the look she gave him.

"Right. So, I suppose that means…?"

"She is with child, your highness. I can assure you of that." Anders stood from his spot on a chair, and spoke with the authority and surety of a healer. "Additionally, from what she's told me, the child is, without a doubt, yours."

There was a long moment of silence. Hawke, who seemed to have lost her nerve in this matter, had fallen silent and was looking down at the dark blue quilt that covered her.

"Caera? Look at me, please." Alistair's voice broke through the silence, but in a gentle and soft tone. He waited for her gaze to reach his, and was startled to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Dear one, please don't worry. I'm sorry about how I acted earlier – I don't really know what came over me. All I can tell you right now is that I love you. Unconditionally. Irrevocably. I'm not upset –"

Before he could continue, Hawke broke in, her voice cracking and blue eyes wild. "You aren't upset? How could you _not_ be? I'm sure that a – a – an _illegitimate _child is the last thing a king wants!"

"Caera, calm down. No, I am most definitely _not_ upset – not in the least!" Alistair's warm, amber eyes bored in to hers, urging her to understand his words. "I am _overjoyed_. You have no idea how long I've thought about the prospect of children, but feared that I would never have them because I am a Grey Warden. The fact that you, of all people, are the one that is going to have my child is more than I ever dared hope for."

"Me? Why?"

"Maker. And you said that _I_ didn't listen!" Alistair sighed and shook his head. A smile grew on his face as he met her eyes once again. "Caera Hawke – listen to me, and listen close: I, Alistair Theirin, love you."

Caera couldn't speak for a moment – she was afraid that she might be dreaming, and knew that waking up from _this _particular dream would be more than she could bear. She closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths, praying on each exhale that he would still be standing there when she opened them once again. Finally, her lids fluttered open, and her eyes adjusted to the lamp-lit room once again. Slowly, a figure standing before her came back into relief once again.

_It wasn't a dream after all…_

"Alistair – I – I'm not really sure what to say…" His face reflected hurt for only a moment before she continued. "Except, that I love you, too."

Pure joy radiated from Alistair at these words. His grin spread lopsided across his face, and he ran a hand excitedly through his already tousled golden locks. He swept down and dropped a jubilant kiss on her cheek, and barely noticed Anders quietly slipping away.

"Alistair –"

He pressed two fingers gently to her lips, silencing her. "Caera, wait before you say anything – I'm savoring this moment." His eyes closed, and he threw his head back for a moment before recovering himself.

"Alistair." Her voice was more urgent this time. "I do love you, but I don't see how that changes things… The fact of the matter is still that I am pregnant with your child. Your court back in Denerim will not be amused by an illegitimate child you have with your lover from the Free Marches. Also, last time I checked, kings are required to find noble wives. I doubt your future spouse would take kindly to me, or this child." She was nearly in tears again by the time she finished speaking the last words in a whisper.

"Maker, Caera. Who said anything about a lover? My love, I am a king, and – in case you didn't know - being king comes with quite a few perks – one such perk that I intend to take advantage of right away, is making my own rules."

Hawke looked up, scarcely daring to hope what his next words might be.

"I hereby decree," Alistair held one hand aloft, the other behind his back in a very over-dramatic and regal pose, "that the king of Ferelden shall be allowed to take any woman he chooses – or any woman that will take _him_ –" he appended with a grin, "for his queen! Effective immediately."

Hawke smiled at him, glad that the Blight hadn't dampened his sense of humor in the least. Her jaw dropped when she took in her surroundings once again, seeing Alistair bent on one knee in front of her.

"Caera Hawke?"

"Yes, Alistair?"

"Will you do me the great honor of being my queen?"

Hawke was too stunned to speak at first. Finally, she found her voice again. "Are you sure? I mean, I'm sure there are far more suitable women back in Ferelden, and I still have things I need to take care of here, and –"

"Maker, woman! You certainly do know how to string someone along, don't you?"

Hawke felt her cheeks color, embarrassed at her outburst, and still overwhelmed with life's recent developments. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Now, I'm going to ask you one more time in just a moment, but before I do, there are a few things I would like to clarify once again. First, whatever business you have left here in Kirkwall, either you're your friends take care of it, or make it my business as well. I refuse to sit by – again – and wait for you to come back half dead. Second, there is only one person I have ever loved: she was the spot of beauty that brought me out of my sorrow years ago in Lothering. She was the one I realized would haunt my dreams forever when I was trapped in the Fade, battling demons and freeing mages. She was the one thought I had when I was sure the archdemon would kill all of us. She _is_ the only person I will ever love, as long as I live. There is no other for me, Caera."

The azure depths of her eyes were unfathomable as he focused his gaze on her once again. It felt like an eternity to Hawke before he spoke again.

"So, Caera, let me ask you this one more time: will you marry me?"

This time, the tears did break free. So overwhelming were her emotions, that all she could do was throw her arms around his neck and nod her head. It was a long while before she spoke, not lifting her brow from its rest on his broad shoulder.

"Yes, Alistair, I will marry you."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** _Oh my. First of all, I am so very sorry that it has taken me so long to get to this chapter! I have been so caught up with work and my other stories that this ended up falling to the back burner. This is pretty much pure, fluffy goodness right here (but isn't that the point of all the misery and heartache from the previous chapters – to bring us to something happy?). This, dear readers, brings us nearly to the end of Alistair and Caera's tale; I will be posting one more chapter (an epilogue) after this one, and that will mark the first story that I've actually completed on this site! Woo hoo! As always, I would like to thank every single one of you who has taken the time to read this story, and an especially big thank you to those of you who have reviewed, followed, and favorite – it really has kept me going, even if I'm not the greatest at updates! Hopefully some of you are still with me after this ridiculous delay in updating! *hugs*_

* * *

**Chapter 13**

_Hawke_

_Oh, Maker, what have I gotten myself into? I'm the scourge of the Kirkwall underground – bandits and nobles alike both fear and respect me. I stood confident against the Arishok, and have fought countless other battles, seeing far more bloodshed than a woman my age should ever witness. Perhaps that's the problem – I don't have an issue killing something that needs killed, and here I'm being thrown into a situation I feel completely unprepared for. Marriage. And not just marriage – that part I'm overjoyed about – it's this elaborate and formal ceremony we have to get through! Alistair's king, I don't see why he couldn't have just put his royal foot down and decreed that we were having a small and private ceremony! But no. Instead it seems that half of Ferelden has been invited! How on earth am I supposed to get through this?_

* * *

Hawke had spent the better part of her one, short week back in Ferelden being inundated with questions concerning the upcoming nuptials. Servants, tailors, and cooks had become a constant stream of visitors through her bedchambers in the castle. She had felt like royalty when she had moved into the estate in Hightown, but that place looked like Gamlen's old hut when compared to her new home.

She still hadn't explored half of the castle, and constantly needed guidance to get from one place to the other. It had just been the night before that she had finally managed to get from her rooms to the dining hall without getting lost once! Aside from the sheer size of the place, though, were the resplendent furnishings: intricately woven tapestries, lush rugs imported from Orlais, enormous vases of flowers that filled the air with their perfume, and enormous crystal chandeliers that sent fractured light dancing across the walls and floors when the hundreds of candles were lit.

As the day of the wedding approached, though, Hawke had been forced to endure a different type of riches. She had spent the better part of her one, short week back in Ferelden being inundated with questions concerning the upcoming nuptials. Servants, tailors, and cooks had become a constant stream of visitors through her bedchambers in the castle. She had been measured for a gown the very first day she had arrived, and each day since had endured hour-long fittings. She had lost count of the different place settings and floral arrangements that had been brought to her for approval, and she was certain that her wedding dress wouldn't fit after all of the food samples she had consumed.

But the day had finally arrived. Caera Hawke was to become Caera Theirin – it was surreal even to her. She had hardly slept the night before, and was woken from her fitful sleep by an army of handmaidens, intent on primping her to perfection in honor of the big day.

She was scrubbed down in a steaming bath, her nails were filed into perfect ovals, and her hair was brushed until it dried, cascading in a shining mass down her back. A young elven woman entered the room with a corset, but the offending garment was turned away for fear of hurting the baby. Rouge was brushed on her cheeks, kohl lined her large eyes, emphasizing their brilliant blue depths, and her lips were stained red. Hot tongs came next, and her raven hair was teased into artfully loose curls. Skillful hands wove strands from each side of her head into a loosely pinned-back style that left most of her thick locks loose.

She was pulled, shaking, to her feet, and silken white slippers were placed for her to step into. She was relieved to note that there was no heel to speak of that would trip her up. A lightweight slip was tied around her waist, and a short bustier was laced up to emphasize her growing bosom. Finally, yards of white silk were hoisted over her head and arms by three women, and the long row of buttons down her back was fastened rapidly by deft hands. She was slowly spun around to look in the full-length mirror. Hands smoothed her skirts as she raised her head.

Caera's mouth fell open. The person reflected in the mirror was most definitely _her_, but it was a version where all her flaws were unrecognizable, and her assets exemplified. She had been concerned that she wouldn't look like herself – a worry that Isabela had clearly relayed to her preparatory team. She felt the strain in her shoulders and neck begin to ease away, and took the time to examine her dress fully for the first time.

It was elegant in its simplicity. The white satin was soft against her skin, and the strapless bodice clung to her recently acquired curves, flowing out gently at her hips to fall in many folds down to the floor. The entire dress was overlaid with lace that looked to be of Orlesian design, for it was tatted in an intricate design that was revealed to be hundreds of tiny flowers upon close inspection. Silvery threads had been woven throughout, so that as she turned the dress shimmered subtly in the light. Caera was surprised to find that she loved it – the understated dress fitted her personality perfectly. She smiled for the first time that day, and soft sighs of satisfaction were heard from the entire assembled team.

* * *

A knock sounded at the door, which was rapidly answered by one of the ladies-in-waiting. The aging figure of Arl Eamon Guerrin entered, followed by Bann Teagan. Caera was surprised to see both of them: while Teagan had been more than hospitable both on the journey across the Waking Sea as well as in Denerim, his older brother had been rather colder towards her.

Eamon cleared his throat before speaking. "Lady Hawke, I am here to escort you to the Great Hall for the ceremony. However, before we leave, there is something I must say."

Caera blanched.

"I had my concerns when Alistair came back from the Free Marches with someone we knew precious little about. He has always been a bit… rash. While he explained that you are of a noble line, and that there was no one he would rather marry, it assuaged my mind to some degree, but not completely." He paused, and the corners of his mouth tilted up into a smile. "You, though, took care of the rest of my concerns on your own – I needn't have worried so."

At this point, Teagan stepped forward. "I believe what my brother is trying to say, Hawke, is 'welcome to the family.'"

Caera smiled broadly at the declaration before replying. "I am honored, my lords. I swear to you both that I will do my best to uphold the honor that Fereldens are known for."

"Not only that, dear girl," chuckled Eamon, "please do try to keep Alistair in check, as well. Maker knows that Teagan and I haven't had much luck! But, I daresay that we had best get you downstairs. We certainly don't want to keep my dear nephew waiting too much longer – he does have a tendency to do rash things when he's panicked."

Caera nodded, and two of the remaining servants stepped forward. One fastened a sheer, floor-length veil to the crown of her head, where it billowed softly down in a cloud of white. The other clasped a gold bracelet, encrusted with brilliantly blue sapphires around one wrist, and a twisted gold necklace with a larger sapphire pendant around Caera's neck. Her preparations complete, she nodded to her escorts, and the walk down to the hall began.

It was torture weaving through the serpentine hallways. With each step, the nerves that Caera had tried so hard to quell began to rise once again. As they reached the massive wooden doors that opened into the massive hall, Teagan and Eamon took their leave, and walked to a side door to take their places. For a few, long moments, Caera was alone.

Suddenly, a bouquet of white roses and baby's breath were thrust into her hands (thankfully, it was devoid of lilies – the only flower Caera had expressed feelings towards). The doors were pulled slowly open, and the scent of hundreds of flowers washed over her, and the sound of a harp playing a traditional Ferelden wedding tune swelled as the hundreds of voices within fell silent.

For a moment, Caera was locked in place, her fear preventing her from taking one step. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, and stepped into the brilliantly lit chamber. As her eyes adjusted to the sunlight that streamed through the high, stained-glass windows, she glanced around. Thousands of white flowers were draped on each pillar, and more formed delicate archways that led to the raised dais ahead where the ancient words of lifelong commitment would shortly be spoken. Arrangements of red and white roses were placed at the end of each row of seats, lending a small splash of color to the scene, and silver ribbons were tied in bows around the base of each.

Upon seeing every eye trained on her, Caera's heart skipped a beat. She felt close to bolting for safety until she looked forward.

Alistair stood at the top of the steps, just off to the right. It was him as she had never seen him before: he wore ceremonial gold armor that was accented with green and reflected the candlelight that danced at the front of the hall. His hair was just as tousled as she was used to seeing, and his amber eyes were darker than normal. Upon examining his face, Caera began to breathe again. It was not the look of uncertainty or regality that she was expecting – instead, pure, unbridled joy shone through his eyes, and his lips were curved into her favorite, crooked smile. It was that smile that coaxed the first full grin from her, and the love and devotion she saw from him caused her to stride confidently down the aisle.

As she reached the front of the hall, she took his proffered arm with a shaking hand, but the last vestiges of nervousness were wiped away as he set his other hand on top of hers, and whispered, "I love you," as they approached the Revered Mother. The ceremony itself was a blur, and Caera was forced to wipe a tear or two away from her eyes as those ancient words of eternal devotion were spoken over them. A simple, gold wedding band was slipped on her finger, and she returned the gesture. She promised to love him for as long as they both lived, and again when they were reunited at the Maker's side. To tumultuous applause, they were finally introduced as husband and wife, and Alistair leaned forward to give her the first of many kisses as a married couple. His hand cupped the side of her face gently, and after another whispered profession of love, his full lips brushed her own before increasing in pressure.

Lightheaded from even this chaste kiss, Caera was forced to pull away with a breathless laugh. Alistair leaned forward to drop one more kiss on her cheek, then turned them both to face the gathered crowd. Grasping each other's hands, the Theirin's walked briskly down the aisle, boldly greeting their future.


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_It was springtime in Denerim. The sun was shining through a sparse distribution of fluffy, white clouds, and new leaves waved lazily in the breeze, shimmering in differed hues of green as they moved. A small pond outside of the city that was surrounded by rolling hills had a number of willows lining its banks, and daffodils were just beginning to show their golden crowns. A young girl with flaxen pigtails crouched by the side of the water, the hem of her blue dress soiled with mud. _

_She glanced back at her father who was lounging against a nearby tree, his head lolling peacefully as he slept. With a grin and mischievous nod of approval from her mother, the girl grabbed her bucket and scooped up some of the frigid water. Her blue eyes that were the exact match to her mother's shone with anticipation as she tip-toed over to where her father lay blissfully unaware of her approach. With a squeal of delight, launched the water at him, then ran away to hide behind her laughing mother. Much of the water had sloshed straight to the ground in the hands of the girl whose fifth nameday had just passed, but the rest managed to soak her father's left side thoroughly. _

_Sputtering, Alistair jumped to his feet, and found the two loves of his life holding one another and laughing at his predicament. A lopsided grin stole onto his face, and he ran playfully after his daughter. He caught up to her slowly, giving her the thrill of outstripping him for a moment before he scooped her up in his arms, and tossed her into the air before catching her again. Her giggling echoed across the pond, and Alistair glanced at his wife, giving her a soft smile before turning back to the girl who was begging him to remember his promise to show her how to catch the silvery fish that lived in the pond._

_Hoisting her to sit on his shoulder, her small hands clasped around his forehead for balance, they pair walked over to the basket they had brought along, and Alistair began piecing together a line and hook for the girl._

_The trio had managed to get away from the castle for the afternoon, and a small contingent of guards kept out of sight so as not to intrude on the family's day. It was a blissful time, and Hawke, who had lived much of her life on the road or as an outsider, finally felt as though she were truly home with her husband, Alistair, and their daughter. Born into a new age in Thedas, Bethany Theirin's time was just beginning._

* * *

**A/N:** _This is it, folks! I truly hope that you have enjoyed Alistair and Hawke's tale, and once again I must thank each and every one of you who has taken the time to read! If you have enjoyed this story, feel free to check out some of my other pieces and let me know what you think… I'm also beginning a new story that will feature Cullen across both DA:O and DA:2! Cheers _


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